DINBURGA CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM CHAMBERS, AUTHOR OF "THE BOOK OF SCOTLAND," &c., AND BY ROBERT CHAMBERS, AUTHOR OF "TRADITIONS OF EDINBURGH," "PICTURE OF SCOTLAND," &c. No. 207. SATURDAY, JANUARY 16, 1836. SERVICEABLE YOUNG MEN. THERE is a time for every thing, and for many things there is a time of life. That there is a period of existence at which men show a greater readiness to oblige than at others, was a maxim of my friend and cousin Will Balderstone: he used to call it the kettle-handing time of life. In most cases, between eighteen and twenty-two is the great era of serviceableness. The youth is then just beginning to mingle with a world which, but yesterday, he had to behold from the awful distance of the nursery. He is oppressed with respect for middle-aged married people, who have been sitting at good men's feasts since before he was born. He hardly knows by what gentle, obsequious, and agreeable arts to conciliate the elder partners of the great social firm of which he aims at becoming a member. His attention to ball-room costume is most exact; his bow, fresh from the dancing-school, most unexceptionable; nothing can be more praiseworthy than the general modesty of his demeanour. He looks with wonder at the chartered freedom which some of his seniors assume in company, and would give worlds to be able to walk, as they do, across a brilliant circle, for the purpose of interchanging a few chatty sentences with the lady of the house. It is not perhaps till his tenth party, that he can take it upon him to venture a remark above his breath. Long before that time, however, if a remark be addressed to him, how eager is he to give it a favourable reception and answer! Not the most undesired and unappreciated guest in the room can speak to him, but he is instantly all smiles at his feet. Ladies, married and unmarried, know well how to take advantage of this humility of spirit on the part of our novice. There is hardly any lady who has not very frequent occasion for services which only can be properly committed to the more lordly sex, and little attentions which they only can render. Young ladies have not always regular lovers to fly at their bidding upon errands of nicety; married ladies often find that their husband is either so much engrossed with his own pursuits, or so little disposed to place himself at their service, that they are not much better off than the spinsters; while widows, obviously, can attend no public place without a gentleman friend. Such services were commanded by the dames of old from a regular officer termed the lady's usher; a fact which shows the comparative barbarism of our ancestors, for, in an age of real gallantry, there would have been so much occasional service from friends, that a regular officer could not have been required. In the present more amiable times, no lady who enters at all into society need ever want one, two, or more voluntary ushers, ready to jump to the moon, perform the northwest passage, or any other thing erroneously supposed impossible, if she only desires it. She has but to mark out a few young youths, who, by their eager looks, betray their innate dispositions, and by dint of so small a fee as mere notice, she may leash the whole into an apron string. There is hardly any young man but what becomes, at a particular stage of his entrance into life, the slave of some lady or ladies, single, married, or widowed, akin or not akin. Only the very studious and the very ill-natured escape: if they have at all the average facility of character, they are as well as foredoomed to the yoke. The most serviceable young man I ever knew was one named Sam Keene, who has since sunk into a firm and substantial merchant of the city of London. Sam had seldom fewer than six albums on his hands at once; one to be adorned with a drawing by a clever PRICE THREE HALFPENCE. self. No-but they would invite him to their next tea-drinking, where they had collected all the little misses, and the very old misses, and all the other bores of their acquaintance; on which occasion it was expected that he was to hand cake and furnish good humour for the whole company, and, at a particular hour, before any one could be thinking of supper, give by his own example the signal for general departure. Sometimes, even while thus condescending, his mistress friend would take the liberty to play off raillery upon him, and that of rather a severe kind. She would chide him prettily for letting Mrs Quick return her own cup, tell him she would have the cake handed next time by one of the children, and scold him for being such dull company to Miss Somber. The poor fellow would take all in earnest, and in endeavours to exert himself still more vigorously, become a subject of occult derision to the whole of the forlorn company whom he was doing his best to gratify. gentleman that was acquainted with a certain eminent poet, in order that the last-mentioned individual might scribble something in it; a third to be enriched by a few excerpts of his own from newspaper poets' corners, in a neat fancy hand, which he could write at the rate of ten lines a-day; and so forth with the rest. The management of albums constituted no small part of the business of life to poor Sam. He rarely attended a party without engaging with at least one young lady to take charge of her album for a few days. He possessed a pencil sketch of Lord Byron, with a bare neck, which he could get copied by his clever friend the artist-a greenhorn like himself and, the fame of this portrait having been trumpeted by one to another of the fair sex, it had become an object of no small importance among them to obtain a copy of it. I am sure that the time spent in pencilling the many exemplars thus given away, might have twice overpurchased the skill of the best engraver of the day, so as to have supplied not only young lady friends, but the public at To the widow ladies Sam was more than usually large, with as much of it as could have been wanted. valuable. In their quiet and unassuming parties, he Sam was also a precious hand for undertaking to get shone out as a person of some real consequence, and, parcels of odd stray prints, wherewith to compile blue- when no other gentleman was present, would even be paper books for drawing-room tables. He marked- asked to sit at the bottom of the table. Being so mere not where the wood-pigeons breed, but where the a stripling, he was most convenient as a protection prints of the annuals were to be had separately; and abroad or in places of entertainment. No lone woman many was the good half-crown he gave away, in order could be so old or so poorly off, but Sam would, at her that he might contribute to the scrap-books of thank- slightest invitation, leave his current business to shift less misses. He would scour half the town to obtain for itself, and gallant her to any place she might particular kinds of pasteboard for ladies' work, or im- please to visit, even to a play which he had already pressions of seals for the adornment of card-cases, or seen thrice-yea, the Zoological Gardens for the twendrawings to be copied upon fire-screens. If he hap-tieth time. The trouble and inconvenience which he pened to call when they had got home a lot of new music upon sight, they thought nothing of asking him to copy one piece after another for a whole evening, so that next day they were able to return the whole without disbursing money for a single piece. Nothing, indeed, was a task or sacrifice too great to be expected from Sam-he was so good a creature. But it could not be remarked that, with all his obliging habits, he was particularly favoured by the young ladies. The good nature of the poor fellow seemed to act as any thing but a recommendation; it detracted from his dignity, and placed them too much at their ease in respect of any interests or objects which he could be supposed to entertain on his own part. He was an excellent person, a most serviceable young man, and so forth; but at the very time he was toiling for them, some surly and less youthful and agreeable man, who only came now and then, and put himself to no trouble whatever, was, for qualities altogether different, accepted. Upon the whole, Sam was disinterested. He showed this by the indiscriminateness of his good offices. A plain girl was as sure of his services as a beauty, and there were some ancient spinsters, whom no one else could endure, but whom Sam would be as glad to conduct home upon a two miles' midnight walk, as if they were still in the heyday of their youthful attractions. It was not that the good youth demanded or expected gratitude, but because his zeal fairly deserved it, that I complain of the little consideration his services met with among those whom he obliged. The married ladies used him not a whit better than the demoiselles. They would harness him to the most unconscionable tasks, and reward him with only a little badinage. He has been known to write them out twenty or thirty cards, for the invitation of a large dinner party, and not receive the honour of an invitation for him thus encountered, in order to confer little kindnesses upon people whom all others deserted, were beyond calculation. In the conducting of country cousins through the town, Sam was not less willingly serviceable. And not only did he take all his own country cousias under his charge, but there was no one so slightly acquainted with him, to whose country cousins he would not, at request, show equal kindness. The people at St Paul's, Westminster Abbey, and the Colosseum, knew him like a brother; and he could tell a few things about the monuments which the regular exhibitors did not seem to be acquainted with. If any one wanted a frank, Sam would spend more of his time in running about to get it, than it was intrinsically worth. There was no place to which admission was to be obtained by order, for which he would not endeavour to get orders of admission, even where there was no intention of asking him to be of the party. He was in fact the humble slave of all, knowing no preference for his own business over that of other people. He was confessedly the most obliging young man alive. As years advanced upon Sam, he began to discover that there were more serious duties in life than that of running cap in hand after every thoughtless lady who chose to take advantage of his good nature. Increasing sense enabled him to perceive that, in devoting himself in an undue degree to the interests and pleasures of others, he was acting so foolishly as to forfeit the esteem of the very individuals whom he served. He found that no amount of good nature, no extent of beneficence, not even a constant adulation of others, will compensate the absence of those common, unadmired qualities, which mankind have agreed to be necessary for keeping one's own part in the world. And, hard as the lesson at first appeared, he gradually acknowledged that general sentiment was right in thus visiting with contempt a disposition which, though erring on virtue's side, was likely to lead to as mischievous artist of his acquaintance; another to be put into the notice. It is a most unconscientious means of obtaining enjoy results as if it had inclined to vice. Sam Keene hands of a gentleman whom he knew, who knew a * It is impossible to pass over this practice with only a jocular ment, and ought on all occasions, when known, to be condemned without mercy. therefore grew as stayed and prudent as the most of EQUALITY OF REMUNERATION FOR LABOUR. certain, however, that the aggregate wages of profes sionals and artists never amount to so large a sum, The law, for instance, has great prizes, but the blanks predominate. It is at the bar, as in the church-a few fortunate aspirants amass wealth; but if the revenue of the entire body of legalists were shared equally among them, they would not probably yield a greater average income than the revenues of the clergy, or of many classes of operatives. Nevertheless, the profession is crowded with candidates, and for this reason, that mere money forms only one element in their remuneration, the remainder being made up by the chances of judicial honours, political power, and the reputation of superior talent. people; did not manifest more than the average readi- a common servant or scavenger: a long course of CONSIDERABLE misconception often prevails with respect to the remuneration of labour; the supposition being, that there is nothing like equality or justice in the advantages derived in the various employments of civil life. In order to clear away the erroneous impressions which may exist on this subject of social economy, we beg to lay before our readers the following views of Mr Wade, from his History of the Middle and Working Classes. "The different rates of wages, as well as of profits in employments, are more apparent than real: for it will mostly be found where industry is free and not subject to artificial regulation, that if a high remuneration is derived from any trade or profession, it results from the greater ability it requires, or from the greater risk or other countervailing incident which accompanies its exercise. This necessarily results from the desire of all men to obtain the best and easiest reward for their exertions. Were there any occupation where the gains were disproportionate, and not balanced by any disadvantage, persons would crowd into that channel of employment, so as by their competition to reduce it to the common level of emolument. The circumstances which cause the recompense of employments to rise above or fall below the common level are stated by Adam Smith to be the five following:-1. The agreeableness and disagreeableness of the employments themselves. 2. The easiness or cheapness, or the difficulty and expense, of learning them. 3. The constancy or inconstancy of the employments. 4. The small or great trust which must be reposed in those who follow them. 5. The probability or improbability of succeeding in them. Grocers, and other shopkeepers, are necessary in the smaller towns and villages for the convenience of the inhabitants; but to enable them to live by their business, and compensate them for their diminutive returns, they are compelled to realise a larger profit on the commodities they sell than dealers in places of greater population. It is thus that most articles of general consumption are cheaper in London than in the country. The quickness of the return, and the greater amount of capital employed by a metropolitan 1. The agreeableness of an employment may arise tradesman, enables him to support himself at a rate of from the lightness of the labour, its healthiness, clean-profit that would absolutely starve a provincial shopliness, or the estimation in which it is held; and its keeper. The great apparent profit charged on their disagreeableness from circumstances of an opposite goods by keepers of chandler-shops, and those in what character. Wages being equal, persons would obvi- is called a general line of business, is more properly ously be determined in the choice of an occupation by the wages of labour necessary to compensate them for its other advantages. The labour of a ploughman is trouble and loss of time in weighing and measuring more severe than that of a shepherd, and is uniformly out their articles in the small quantities required by better rewarded. A compositor employed on a daily their customers. newspaper, often working in the night, is better paid than one employed in book-printing. Miners, gilders, of employment. Many trades can only be carried on 3. Wages vary with the constancy or inconstancy type-founders, smiths, distillers, and all who carry on in particular states of the weather and seasons of the unhealthy and dangerous trades, obtain higher wages year; and if the workmen cannot turn to other emthan those who are equal in skill, but engaged in more ployments, their wages must be proportionately high. desirable employments. The trades of a butcher, brick- Watchmakers, weavers, shoemakers, and tailors, may maker, coalheaver, and sugar-boiler, are disagreeable, usually reckon on constant employment; but masons, and accordingly compensated with higher wages. The bricklayers, paviers, gardeners, and in general all those employment of public executioner is detestable, and who work in the open air, are liable to perpetual inin consequence better paid than any other, in propor- terruptions. As every one, however, ought to live tion to the work done. Agreeableness and the popular by his trade, their wages ought not only to suffice for estimation of many pursuits constitute a considerable their maintenance while they are employed, but also part of their remuneration. Thus hunting and fish- during the time they are necessarily idle. This ing are to many a pastime, and, therefore, make very principle,' Mr M'Culloch observes, shows the falunprofitable trades. The emoluments of private secretaries and public librarians are seldom considerable; lacy of the notions commonly entertained of the great earnings of porters, hackney-coachmen, watermen, they are chiefly paid in the respectability and pleasant- and generally of all workmen employed only for short ness of their occupation. Smuggling and poaching periods, and on casual occasions. Such persons frehave singular fascinations to some minds, and the op-quently make as much in an hour as a regularly emportunities they afford for the indulgence of an adven-ployed workman makes in a day; but their greater turous spirit form their chief recompense: for those hire during the time they are employed is found to be who pursue those illicit callings are proverbially poor. only a bare compensation for the labour they perform, The cheerfulness and healthiness of the employments, and the time lost in waiting for the next job: instead rather than the lightness of the labour, or the little of making money, such persons are almost universally skill they require, seem to be the principal cause of poorer than those engaged in more constant occupations.' the redundant numbers, and consequent low wages, 4. Wages vary with the greater or less trust reof common farm-servants, and generally of all work-posed in workmen. This is a very natural ground men employed in ordinary field-labour. The emoluof distinction. Greater the trust, and greater the ments of ministers of religion, professors of the sciences, probity and ability required. An overseer, superinschoolmasters, tutors, and officers in the army and navy, are not proportioned to the expense of their tendant, or steward, is always better remunerated than a mere journeyman or servant. The wages of goldsmiths education; and they are chiefly rewarded by the po- and jewellers are superior to those of many other pularity and honourableness of their engagements. Disagreeableness and discredit affect the profits of on account of the precious materials with which they workmen not only of equal but superior ingenuity, capital in the same manner as the wages of labour. are intrusted. 'We trust our health,' says Smith, The keeper of a small inn, alehouse, or spirit-shop, to the physician, our fortune, and sometimes our life who can hardly be said to be master of his own house, and reputation, to the lawyer and attorney. Such exercises neither a very agreeable nor creditable busi- confidence could not safely be reposed in people of a ness; but there is scarce any common trade in which a very mean or low condition. Their reward, theresmall stock yields so great a profit. fore, must be such as may give them that rank in society which so important a trust requires. The long time and the great expense which must be laid out in their education, when combined with those circumstances, necessarily enhance still further the price of their labour.' 2. Arts and trades that are difficult to learn, and a knowledge of which can only be attained by serving long apprenticeships, or the payment of high premiums, are usually well remunerated. Wages are a compensation paid to the labourer, or artizan, for the exertion of his physical powers, or of his skill or ingenuity. They necessarily, therefore, vary with the severity of the labour or the ability required. A jeweller or engraver, for example, must be paid higher wages than 5. Wages vary with the chance of success in different employments. A young man of ordinary ability may hope to succeed as a tailor or shoemaker, but as a lawyer or artist success is much more dubious. But in professions where many fail for one who succeeds, the fortunate one ought not only to gain such wages as will indemnify him for the expenses incurred in his propriating a drop of his oral gold, and beating it out so so much education, but also for all that has been expended in the education of his unsuccessful competitors. It is The germ of this article was derived from one of the clever and amusing monopolylogues of Mr James Russell, which the writer had the pleisure of hearing in Edinburgh, December 1835. ife trusts that that respectable comedian will excuse his thus apprinted leaf. 6 Similar observations will apply to that unprosperous race of men,' as Adam Smith terms them, 'called men of letters,' who are in the same predicament as lawyers, physicians, and other practisers of the liberal arts. A few authors realise large sums from their productions, but the aggregate earnings of the entire class are inconsiderable. The injustice, however, of this is more apparent than real. Letters are not cultivated as a trade, nor even profession; they are never deliberately entered upon as a source of profit; no one ever thinks of apprenticing a child to such a pursuit, or training him up with a view of making him an author: for in literature natural fitness is every thing, and choice nothing. Literary men mostly become such, not with a view to gain, or even fame, but to gratify their own thirst for knowledge, and this in truth constitutes their best and greatest reward. Indeed, there is not so much injustice in these things as in the cupidity which would grasp both fame and profit when it is hardly in nature they should go together. Sir Christopher Wren received only L.300 a-year for superintending the building of St Paul's, which was probably a less annual emolument than that of his head mason or carpenter, but all the fame of erecting that noble pile descended to the architect, while those who merely put together the stone and mortar have been forgotten. I conclude, therefore, that the circumstances which influence the wages of science and literature do not materially differ from other employments. Misapprehension on the subject has chiefly arisen from not duly considering the mixed coin in which they are remunerated. Like the pursuits of professional men and artists, to which they are nearest allied, in addition to pecuniary emolument, they are rewarded by inci dental, and in the opinion of some, perhaps, shadowy advantages. It is only the booksellers, not authors, who seek profit alone. Besides mere gain, a distinguished writer on political economy, or even politics, may justly aspire to the honours and rewards of pub lic life; an author, eminent as a moral or natural philosopher, is not only celebrated among the learned of his own country, but throughout Europe and America; or if eminent as a poet or novelist, not only a shower of gold awaits him, but the smiles of the fashionable, the rich, and luxurious. The rewards in the army and navy are of the same varied character as those in literature and professions, being partly pecuniary, and partly honorary and contingent. It is, however, the officers who chiefly reap the latter advantages, while the common soldier or sailor receives little compensation beyond his pay and prize-money. These are so inadequate a return for the toils and dangers he undergoes, that political economists have found some difficulty in bringing his occupation under the influence of the five circumstances that tend to equalise the advantages of different employments. To reconcile the anomaly, Mr M'Culloch observes, that except when actually engaged in warlike operations, a soldier is comparatively idle; while his free, dissipated, and generally adventurous life, the splendour of his uniform, the imposing spectacle of military parades and evolutions, and the martial music by which they are accompanied, exert a most seductive influence over the young and inconsiderate. The dangers and privations of campaigns are undervalued, while the chances of advancement are proportionally exaggerated in their sanguine and heated imaginations.' The temptations to enlist in the army are more enticing to young men than those to enter the navy. The accompaniments of a sailor's life are less dazzling to the imagination; no regular uniform-ne soul-stirring drum; his employment dirty, and often laborious, while it is a sort of living entombment from of a soldier, and the navy, at the breaking out of a the world. In consequence, his wages exceed the pay war, is manned with greater difficulty than the army is recruited. A moral reason, overlooked by economical writers, may be assigned for the inadequate pay of common soldiers. The army is mostly filled from the same causes which fill the jails and houses of correction : it is not choice, but necessity, which compels many to enlist therein; having lost their character, or contracted habits of idleness and improvidence, which exclude them from the better paid walks of civic industry, they are constrained to devote themselves to the hardships and perils of military life. A similar explanation will apply to scavengers, navigators, breakers of stones on the highway, and most of the lowest class of labourers, whose wages, unaccompanied with other advantages, are disproportionate to the risk and unpleasantness of the labour. Muscular strength, and not characters exempt from moral turpitude, is required. Hence the low rate of wages, because, in addition to those forced into such employments, either by defect of education or neglect of parents, they are also depressed by the competition of the outcasts of all other branches of social industry. Enough, however, has been said to establish the main point of inquiry; namely, the general equality of advantages in the employments of civil life. If wages are unequal, if they rise above or fall below the common level of remuneration, it will mostly be found that they are influenced by the agreeableness or disagreeableness of the occupation-its difficulty of acquirement the uncertainty of success-the distinction or discredit accompanying the pursuit, or some other of the five circumstances which have been shown to influence the price of labour. In order, however, that the equality of advantages may take place, even when freedom of industry exists, three things are requisite; first, the employments must have been long established; secondly, they must be in their ordinary or natural state; and, thirdly, they must be the sole or principal employment of those who follow them. Wages are generally higher in new than in old trades. The profits derived from the establishment of a new manufacture, the opening of a new channel of commerce, or from the introduction of some new invention, are seldom proportioned to those of old trades. If the novelty succeeds, they are, for a time at least, very high; but when the trade or practice becomes thoroughly established, competition reduces them to the level of other pursuits. Secondly, wages are temporarily influenced by the fluctuations of fashion, the seasons of the year, and a state of peace or war. The introduction of a new pattern, or article of dress, will stimulate demand in that line of business; the demand for rural labour is greater during harvest, and wages rise with it; the intervention of hostilities would cause a sudden rise in the wages of seamen; and the same circumstance would exercise an influence on the wages of those classes from which the army and navy are chiefly recruited, as well as on the prosperity of various branches of manufactures. Lastly, the equality of advantages may be affected in employments which do not constitute the sole occupation of persons engaged therein. Clerks, and many out-of-door workmen, not fully occupied by the duties of their situations, are often found willing to keep accounts, and perform little jobs at a lower rate of remuneration than they would if such formed their sole dependence. The various domestic manufactures carried on prior to the general introduction of machinery had these advantages, that they could be carried on at all times and in all sorts of weather, and were a constant resource for filling up every leisure moment. A husbandman, who could plough by day and spin and card wool with his family at night, might have continued up to this day to contend in cheapness of production with the regular manufacturer, had not the latter been aided by the prodigies of power created by the union of capital and mechanical inventions. In addition to these causes tending to disturb the equilibrium of advantages in employments, others arise, partly from the institutions of society, and partly from the institutions and regulations subsisting among the workmen themselves. The obstructions to the freedom of industry of the former description have been mostly removed by the wisdom of modern legislation, and it will be unnecessary to dwell on them longer than to show their tendency and character." [The author here points to the obstructions caused by apprenticeships, by the operation of the poor-laws (now modified), and by corporate immunities, and then proceeds:] "I shall next speak of the obstruction to the freedom of industry, from trade-societies and regulations subsisting among workmen themselves, and which are unconnected with the laws and institutions of the country. Combinations among workmen, intended solely to keep up the rate of wages, are of precisely the same nature as combinations among masters to keep up the rate of profits. They are both confederacies against the public, liable to the same objections as monopolies, in which the interest of individuals is sought to be supported at the expense of the interests of the community. One is an interference with the freedom of industry, the other, with the free employment of capital. Competition is in both cases restrained; in one, the supply of labour, and in the other the supply of capital, is kept less than it would be in a state of freedom. The nature and objects of trade unions I shall explain more particularly hereafter. My present purpose has been to establish the equality of advantages in the several employments, pursuits, and professions of civil life; and, secondly, to show that this equilibrium of remuneration is never permanently disturbed, except either by the artificial institutions of society, or by rules and regulations subsisting among · the industrious themselves." To this intelligible view of the equality of remuneration for labour, it need only be added, that excessive depression in the rate of wages may be frequently traced to two influencing causes. The first is the subsidence of some main branch of industry, either from its falling from an unnatural to a natural level, or by its being superseded by some cheaper kind of labour; the second is, the injudicions perseverance in such a depressed branch of industry long after it is proved to be for ever ruined. It is no doubt difficult for men who have been instructed in, and habituated with, a particular line of industry, to turn their hands to a different employment; but it will be allowed, that too many are indisposed to make the attempt. An unwillingness to leave the place of their birth, or to do any thing out of the jog-trot of their profession, affects them; and we therefore occasionally see the population of whole towns sinking yearly deeper and deeper into poverty, while the inhabitants of other towns at no great distance are actively employed, and in a state of the utmost prosperity. This fatal adherence to places, and to ruined professions, must, however, form the subject of a subsequent article. THE VELVET PELISSE, A STORY. [Abridged from Mrs Opic's Simple Tales.] MR BERESFORD was a merchant engaged in a very extensive business, and possessed of considerable property, a great part of which was vested in a large estate in the country, on which he chiefly resided. Beresford was what is commonly denominated purse-proud; and so eager to be honoured on account of his wealth, that he shunned rather than courted the society of men of rank, as he was fond of power and precedence, and did not like to associate with those who had an indisputable claim to that deference of which he himself was desirous. But he earnestly wished that his only child and heiress should marry a man of rank; and being informed that a young baronet of large estates in his neighbourhood, and who was also heir to a barony, was just returned from his travels, and intended to settle at his paternal seat, he was resolved that Julia should have every possible opportunity of showing off to the best advantage before so desirable a neighbour; and determined that his daughter, his house, and his table, should not want any charm which money could procure. Beresford had gained his fortune by degrees, and, having been educated by frugal and retired parents, his habits were almost parsimonious; and when he launched out into unwonted expenses on becoming wealthy, it was only in a partial manner. Julia Beresford, his daughter, accustomed from her birth to affluence, if not to luxury, and having in every thing what is called the spirit of a gentlewoman, was often distressed and mortified at the want of consistency in her father's mode of living; but she was particularly distressed to find, that, though he was always telling her what a fortune he would give her when she married, and at his death, he allowed her but a trifling sum comparatively, for pocket-money, and required from her, with teasing minuteness, an account of the manner in which her allowance was spent ; reprobating very severely her propensity to spend her money on plausible beggars and pretended invalids. But on this point he talked in vain: used by a benevolent and pious mother, whose loss she tenderly deplored, to impart comfort to the poor, the sick, and the afflicted, Julia endeavoured to make her residence in the country a blessing to the neighbourhood; but too often kind words, soothing visits, and generous promises, were all that she had to bestow; and many a time did she purchase the means of relieving a distressed fellow-creature by a personal sacrifice. Though the sums were trifling which Julia had to bestow, she had so many cheap charities in her power, such as sending broth to the neighbouring cottages, and making linen of various sorts for poor women and children, that she was deservedly popular in the neighbour hood; and though her father was reckoned as proud as he was rich, the daughter was pronounced to be a pattern of good nature, and as affable as he was the contrary. But wherever Beresford could have an opportunity of displaying his wealth to advantage, he regarded not expense; and to outvie the neighbouring gentlemen in endeavours to attract the rich young baronet, whom all the young ladies would, he supposed, be aiming to captivate, he purchased magnificent furniture and carriages, and promised Julia a great addition to her wardrobe, whenever Sir Frederic Mortimer should take up his abode at his seat. Julia heard with a beating heart that the baronet was expected. She had been several times in his company at a watering-place, immediately on his return from abroad, and had wished to appear as charming in his eyes as he appeared in hers; but she had been disappointed. Modest and retiring in her manner, and not showy in her person, though her features were regularly beautiful, Sir Frederic Mortimer, who had only seen her in large companies, and with very striking and attractive women, had regarded her merely as an amiable girl, and had rarely thought of her again. Julia Beresford was formed to steal upon the affections by slow degrees; to interest on acquaintance, not to strike at first sight. But the man who had opportunities of listening to the sweet tones of her voice, and of gazing on her varied countenance when emotion crimsoned her pale cheek, and lighted up the expression of her eyes, could never behold her without a degree of interest which beauty alone often fails to excite. Like most women, too, Julia derived great advantages from dress: of this she was sensible, though very often did she appear shabbily attired, from having expended on others sums destined to ornament herself. One day, Julia, accompanied by her father, went to the shop of a milliner, in a large town near which they lived; and as winter was coming on, and her pelisse, a dark and now faded purple, was nearly worn out, she was very desirous of purchasing a black velvet one, which was on sale; but her father hearing that the price of it was twelve guineas, positively forbade her to wish for so expensive a piece of finery; though he owned that it was very handsome and very becoming. "To be sure," said Julia smiling, but casting a longing look at the pelisse, "twelve guineas might be better bestowed;" and they left the shop. The next day Mr Beresford went to town on business, and, in a short time after, he wrote to his daughter to say that he had met Sir Frederic Mortimer in London, and that he would soon be down at his seat, to attend some pony races which Mr Hanmer, who had a mind to show off his dowdy daughter to the young baronet, intended to have on a piece of land belonging to him, and that he had heard all the ladies in the neighbourhood were to be there. "I have received an invitation for you and myself," continued Mr Beresford; "and therefore, as I am resolved the Miss Traceys, and the other girls, shall not be better or more expensively dressed than my daughter, I inclose you the sum of thirteen pounds, with which you will have it in your power to purchase the velvet pelisse which we so much admired." Julia's young heart beat with pleasure at this permission; for she was to adorn herself to appear before the only man whom she ever wished to please: and the next morning she determined to set off to make the desired pur chase. That evening, being alone, she set out to take her usual walk; and having, lost in no unpleasant reverie, strayed very near to a village about three miles from home, she recollected to have heard an affecting account of the distress of a very virtuous and industrious family in that village, owing to the poor man's being drawn for the militia, and not rich enough to procure a substitute. She therefore resolved to go on, and inquire how the matter had terminated. Julia proceeded to the village, and reached it just as the very objects of her solicitude were come to the height of their dis tresses. The father of the family, not being able to raise more than half the money wanted, was obliged to serve; and Julia, on seeing a crowd assembled, approached to ask what was going forward, and found she was arrived to witness a very affecting scene; for the poor man was taking his last farewell of his wife and family, who, on his departure to join the regiment, would be forced to go to the workhouse, where, as they were in delicate health, it was most probable they would soon fall victims to bad food and bad air. The poor man was universally beloved in his village; and the neighbours, seeing that a young lady inquired concerning his misfortunes with an air of interest, were all eager to give her every possible information on the subject of his distress. "And only think, miss," said one of them, "for the want of nine pound only, as honest and hard-working a lad as ever lived, and as good a husband and father, must be forced to leave his family, and be a militiaman-and they, poor things, go to the workhouse!" "Nine pounds!" said Julia; "would that be sufficient to keep him at home?" "Yes, miss; for that young fellow yonder would gladly go for him for eighteen pounds.' On hearing this, how many thoughts rapidly succeeded each other in Julia's mind! If she paid the nine pounds, the man would be restored to his family, and they preserved perhaps from an untimely death in a workhouse! But then she had no money but what her father had sent to purchase the pelisse, nor was she to see him till she met him on the race-ground !— and he would be so disappointed if she was not well dressed! True, she might take the pelisse on trust; but then she was sure her father would be highly incensed at her extravagance, if she spent twelve guineas, and gave away nine pounds at the same time: therefore she knew she must either give up doing a generous action, or give up the pelisse; that is, give up the gratification of her father's pride and her own vanity. "No, I dare not, I cannot do it," thought Julia; my own vanity I would willingly mortify, but not my father's. No-the poor man must go." During this mental struggle, the bystanders had eagerly watched her countenance; and thinking that she was disposed to pay the sum required, they communicated their hopes to the poor people themselves; and as Julia turned her eyes towards them, the wretched couple looked at her with such an imploring look! But she was resolved. "I am sorry, I am very sorry," said she, "that I can do nothing for you. However, take this." So saying, she gave them all the loose money she had in her pocket, amounting to a few shillings, and then with an aching heart walked rapidly away; but as she did so, the sobs of the poor woman, as she leaned on her husband's shoulder, and the cries of the little boy, when his father, struggling with his grief, bade him a last farewell, reached her, and penetrated to her heart. "Poor creatures!" she inwardly exclaimed; "and nine pounds would change these tears into gladness, and yet I withhold it! And is it for this that heaven has blessed me with opulence?-for this, to be restrained, by the fear of being reproved for spending a paltry sum, from doing an action acceptable in the eyes of my Creator! No! I will pay the money. I will enjoy the delight of serving afflicted worth, and spare myself from, perhaps, eternal self-reproach !” She then, without waiting for further consideration, turned back, paid the money into the poor man's hand, and, giving the remaining four pounds to the woman, who, though clean, was miserably clad, desired her to lay part of it out in clothes for herself and children. I will not attempt to describe the surprise and gratitude of the relieved sufferers, nor the overwhelming feelings which Julia experienced, who, withdrawing herself with the rapidity of lightning from their thanks, and wishing to remain unknown, ran hastily along her road home, not daring to stop, lest her joy at having done a generous deed should be checked by other considerations. But at length exhausted, and panting for breath, she was obliged to relax in her speed; and then the image of her angry and disappointed parent appeared to her in all its terrors. "What can I do?" she exclaimed. "Shall I order the pelisse, though I can't pay for it, or go without it? No-I ought not to incur so great an expense without my father's leave, though I know him to be able to afford it; and to run in debt he would consider | as even a greater fault than the other. Well, then, I must submit to mortify his pride; and though I rejoice in what I have done, the joy is amply counterbalanced by the idea of giving pain to my father." Poor Julia! her own wounded vanity came in for its share in causing her uneasiness; and the rest of that day, and the next, Julia spent in reflections and fears which did not tend to improve her looks, and make a becoming dress unnecessary. The next morning was the morning of the races. The sun shone bright, and every thing looked cheerful but Julia. She had scarcely spirits to dress herself. It was very cold; therefore she was forced to wear her faded purple pelisse, and now it looked shabbier than usual, and still shabbier from the contrast of a very smart new black velvet bonnet. At length Julia had finished her toilet, saying to herself, "My father talked of Mr Hanmer's dowdy daughter. I am sure Mr Hanmer may return the compliment ;" and then, with a heavy heart, she got into the carriage, and drove to the house of rendezvous. Mr Beresford was there before her; and while he contemplated with fearful admiration the elegant cloaks and fine showy figures and faces of the Miss Traceys, between whose father and himself there had long been a rivalship of wealth, he was consoled for their elegance by reflecting how much more expensive and elegant Julia's dress would be, and how well she would look, flushed, as he expected to see her, with the blush of emotion on entering a full room, and the consciousness of more than usual attraction in her appearance. Julia at length appeared, but pale, dejected, and in her old purple pelisse. fore, having expected such an exhibition would take "Charming!-admirable !-what a figure!-what Reels were next called for, and Julia then stood up to dance; but she had not danced five minutes, when, exhausted by the various emotions which she had undergone during the last eight-and-forty hours, her head became so giddy, that she could not proceed, and was obliged to sit down." I believe the deuce is in the girl," muttered Mr Beresford; and, to increase her distress, Julia overheard him. In a short time the dancing was discontinued, and him and his family, her having relieved them, and then running away to avoid their thanks, and to prevent her being followed, as it seemed, and being known. That, resolved not to rest till they had learnt the name of their benefactress, they had described her person and her dress. "But, bless your honour," interrupted the woman, "when we said what she had done for us, we had not to ask any more, for every one said it could be none but Miss Julia Beresford !" Here Julia hid her face on her father's shoulder, and the company said not a word. The young ladies appeared conscience-struck; for it seemed that no one in the neighbourhood (and they were of it) could do a kind action but Miss Julia Beresford. "My good man, go on," cried Beresford gently. "Well, sir, yesterday I heard that if I went to live at a market-town four miles off, I could get more work to do than I have in my own village, and employment for my little boy too; so we resolved to go and try our luck there. But we could not be easy to go away without coming to thank and bless that good young lady. So, hearing at her house that she was come hither, we made bold to follow her; your servants told us where to find her :-ah! thanks to her, I can afford to hire a cart for my poor sick wife and family!" "This is quite a scene," cried Miss Tracey. "But one in which we should all have been proud to have been actors, I trust," answered the baronet. "What say you, gentlemen and ladies?" continued he, coming forward: "though we cannot equal Miss Beresford's kindness, since she sought out poverty, and it comes to us-what say you ?-shall we make a purse for these good people, that they may not think there is only one kind being in the neighbourhood?" "Agreed!" cried every one; and, as Sir Frederick held the hat, the subscription from the ladies was a liberal one; but Mr Beresford gave five guineas: then Mr Hanmer desired the overjoyed family to go to his house to get some refreshment, and the company reseated themselves. But Mr Beresford having quitted his seat, in order to wipe his eyes unseen at the door, the baronet had taken the vacant place by Julia. "What! more scenes!” cried Mr Hanmer; "what! are you sentimental too, Beresford? Who should have thought it ?" It was Sir Frederic's intention to marry, and, if possible, a young woman born in the same county as Now, ladies and gentlemen," cried Beresford, himself; for he wished her to have the same local pre- blowing his nose, "you shall see a new sight-a pajudices as he had, and to have the same early attach-rent asking pardon of his child. Julia, my dear, I ments; consequently he inquired of his steward, before know I behaved very ill; I know I was very cross to he came to reside at his seat, into the character of the you-very savage; I know I was. You are a good ladies in the neighbourhood; but the steward could girl; and always were, and ever will be, the pride of or would talk of no one but Julia Beresford, and of my life; so let's kiss and be friends." And Julia, her he gave so exalted a character, that Sir Frederic, throwing herself into her father's arms, declared she who only remembered her as a pleasing modest girl, should now be herself again. What a mortification! His daughter, the great was very sorry that he had not paid her more attenheiress, the worst dressed and most dowdy-looking tion. Soon after, in the gallery of an eminent painter, girl in the company! Insupportable! Scarcely could he saw her picture; and though he thought it flattered, he welcome her, though he had not seen her for some he gazed on it with pleasure, and fancied that Julia, days; and he seized the very first opportunity of ask-when animated, might be quite as handsome as that ing her if she had received the notes. "Yes, I thank was. Since that time he had frequently thought of you, sir," replied Julia. “Then why did you not buy her, and thought of her as a woman formed to make what I bade you? It could not be gone; for if you him happy; and indeed he had gone to look at her did not buy it, nobody else could, I am sure." picture the day before he came down to the country, and had it strongly in his remembrance when he saw Julia herself, pale, spiritless, and ill-dressed, in Mr Hanmer's drawing-room. Perhaps it would be too much to say that he felt as much chagrined as Mr Beresford; but certain it is, that he was sensibly disappointed, and could not help yielding to the superior attraction of the lovely and elegant Miss Tracey. "I-I-I thought I could do without it, and "There now, there is perverseness! When I wished you not to have it, then you wanted it; and now-I protest if I don't believe you did it on purpose to mortify me; and there's those proud minxes, whose father is not worth half what I am, are dressed out as fine as princesses. I vow, girl, you look so shabby and ugly, I can't bear to look at you." The collation had every delicacy to tempt the paThere was a mixture of tenderness and resentment late, and every decoration to gratify the taste; and in this speech, which quite overcame Julia, and she all, except the pensive Julia, seemed to enjoy it; burst into tears. "There now she is going to make when, as she was leaning from the door to speak to a herself worse, by spoiling her eyes. But come, tell me lady at the head of the table, a little boy, about ten what you did with the money; I insist upon know-years old, peeped into the pavilion, as if anxiously ing. "I-I-gave it away," sobbed out Julia. looking for some one. "Gave it away! monstrous! I protest I will not speak to you again for a month." So saying, he left her, and carefully avoided to look at or speak to her again. The races began, and were interesting to all but Julia, who, conscious of being beheld by her father with looks of mortification and resentment, and by the man of her choice with indifference, had no satisfaction to enable her to support the unpleasantness of her situation, except the consciousness that her sorrow had been the cause of happiness to others, and that the family whom she had relieved were probably at that moment naming her with praises and blessings. The races at length finished, and with them she flattered herself would finish her mortifications; but in vain. The company was expected to stay to partake of a cold collation, which was to be preceded by music and dancing, and Julia was obliged to accept the unwelcome invitation. As the ladies were most of them very young, they were supposed not to have yet forgotten the art of dancing minuets an art now of so little use; and Mr Hanmer begged Sir Frederic would lead out his daughter to show off in a minuet. The baronet obeyed, and then offered to take out Julia for the same purpose; but she, blushing, refused to comply. "Well, what's that for?" cried Beresford angrily, who knew that Julia was remarkable for dancing a good minuet. "Why can't you dance when you are asked, Miss Beresford ?" Because," replied Julia in a faultering voice, "I have no gown on, and I can't dance a minuet in my-in my pelisse." "Rot your pelisse !" exclaimed Beresford, forgeting all decency and decorum, and turning to the window to hide his angry emotions, while Julia hung her head, abashed; and the baronet led out Miss Tracey, who, throwing off the cloak which she had worn be The child was so clean, and so neat in his dress, "Why, I'll tell a story now," replied he. "That girl vexed and mortified me—that she did. I wished her to be smart, to do honour to you and your daughter to-day; so I sent her twelve guineas to buy a very handsome velvet pelisse which she took a fancy to, but which I thought too dear. But instead of that, here she comes in this old fright, and a fine dowdy figure she looks!-and when I reproached her, she said she had given the money away; and so I sup pose it was that very money which she gave to these poor people. Heh! was it not so, Julia ?" "It was," replied Julia; "and I dared not then be so extravagant as to get the pelisse too." "So, Hanmer," continued Beresford, "you may sneer at me for being sentimental, if you please; but I am now prouder of my girl in her shabby cloak here, than if she were dressed out in silks and satins." "And so you ought to be," cried Sir Frederic. "And Miss Beresford has converted this garment,' lifting up the end of the pelisse, "into a robe of honour.' So saying, he gallantly pressed it to his lips. "Come, I will give you a toast," continued he. "Here is the health of the woman who was capable of sacrificing the gratification of her personal vanity to the claims of benevolence." The ladies put up their pretty lips, but drank the toast, and Beresford went to the door to wipe his eyes again; while Julia could not help owning to herself, that if she had had her moments of mortification, they were richly paid. of execution. "It was wonderful! they sang like professors," every one said; and then again was Julia requested to sing. At this moment Julia turned round, and the little boy, clapping his hands, exclaimed, "Oh! that's she! that's she!" Then, running out, he cried, "Mother! mother! Father! father! here she is!-we have found her at last!" and before Julia, who suspected The collation was now resumed, and Julia partook what was to follow, could leave her place, and get out of it with pleasure; her heart was at ease, her cheek of the pavilion, the poor man and woman whom she recovered its bloom, and her eyes their lustre. Again had relieved, and their now well-clothed happy-look-the Miss Traceys sang, and with increased brilliancy ing family, appeared before the door of it. "What does all this mean ?" cried Mr Hanmer. "Good people, whom do you want ?" "We come, sir," cried the man, "in search of that young lady," pointing to Julia; as we could not go from the neighbourhood without coming to thank and bless her; for she saved me from going for a soldier, and my wife and children from a workhouse, sir, and made me and mine as comfortable as you now see us.” "Dear father! let me pass, pray do," cried Julia, trembling with emotion, and oppressed with ingenuous modesty. "Stay where you are, girl," cried Beresford, in a voice between laughing and crying. "Well, but how came you hither ?" cried Mr Hanmer, who began to think this was a premeditated scheme of Julia's to show off before the company. 66 66 Why, sir-shall I tell the whole story?" asked the man." No, no, pray go away," cried Julia, "and I'll come and speak to you." By no means," cried the baronet eagerly; "the story, the story, if you please." The man then began, and related Julia's meeting "I can sing now," replied she; "and I never refuse when I can do so. Now I have found my father's favour, I shall find my voice too ;" and then, without any more preamble, she sang a plaintive and simple ballad, in a manner the most touching and unadorned. When she had ended, every one, except Sir Frederic, loudly commended her, and he was silent; but Julia saw that his eyes glistened, and she heard him sigh, and she was very glad that he said nothing. Again the sisters sang, and Julia too, and then the party broke up; but Mrs Tracey invited the same party to meet at her house in the evening, to a ball and supper, and they all agreed to wait on her. As they returned to the house, Sir Frederic gave his arm to Julia, and Miss Tracey walked before them. "That is a very fine, showy, elegant girl," observed Sir Frederic. "She is indeed, and very handsome," replied Julia; "and her singing is really wonderful." "Just so," replied Sir Frederic; "it is wonderful, CLIMATE OF NORTH AMERICA. EVERY one who has been in America, though he may have been neither a physician nor a philosopher, must have been struck with surprise at the extraordinary and sudden vicissitudes of temperature, and likewise at two very remarkable circumstances touching the climate of the United States. We refer to its being colder in winter and hotter in summer, by several degrees, than at the same parallels of latitude in Europe, as well as in Asia and Africa upon the coast of the Mediterranean. This is more remarkable in the extent of country lining the shore of the Atlantic Ocean. Thus taking Salem in the state of Massachusetts, and Rome, being places of nearly the same latitude, an extraordinary difference is observable. Rome, 41°, 53' to Staten Island, four miles below their place of des- In the middle states, therefore, the extreme variation is not so excessive. In the southern states, such as Virginia, the Carolinas, and Georgia, the difference in the cold and heat Occasionally, as far south as Charleston, which is in the parallel of Morocco, the Charleston, snow falls, but not very generally. At thermometer ranges in the course of the year from 30 degrees to 100 of Fahrenheit. At Savannah, it is sometimes at 106 degrees, which is much higher than it ever goes in Egypt, 88 degrees being there the ordinary limits of the mercury in the shade. Thus the nearer the tropics are approached, is the extreme difference between the temperatures of summer and winter lessened, until in the West India Islands it is reduced to 30 and 40 degrees annual variation. But here, in consequence of the sea breezes, the thermometer in summer is seldom above 92 degrees of Fahrenheit. Not only is the difference of temperature thus great on the whole American coast of the Atlantic, but these variations are more frequent than in Europe, the thermometer passing from one extreme to the other in a very short time. Dr Rush, in his Observations on the Climate of Pennsylvania, remarks that "The climate of Pennsylvania is composed of all climates under the sun; the humidity of England in spring, the heat of Africa in summer, the sky of Egypt in autumn, and the cold of Norway in winter; and, what is much worse, sometimes the occurrence of all in one day. In the course of our winters, especially in January and February, it frequently happens that there is a variation, in the space of eighteen hours, of 20 and 30 degrees, from cold to heat, and from heat to cold, which have the very worst consequences on health.' The same fact occurs in summer, and, as Dr Rush observes, the greater the heat at mid-day, the greater is the fall of the mercury at the break of day, the two extremes of diurnal heat and cold in all climates. In ing a degree; but innumerable facts prove that it is, on the contrary, altered so greatly by other circumstances, as to set all calculation, founded merely upon the degree of latitude, at defiance. These circumstances are the soil, its dry or damp surface, the presence or absence of forests, its position above or below the level of the sea, its exposure to this or that aspect of the sun, and especially by the nature and quality of the currents of air which prevail on such surface. ness. These circumstances, in their various modifications, produce those consequences on the climate of America which distinguish it so essentially from that of Europe, Asia, or Africa. In no part of the world are such extraordinary variations; and there is no reason to dispute the hypothesis which is generally recognised for true, in accounting for this phenomenon, that they are in a great measure caused by the difference in the nature of the winds, and by their extraordinary fickleIn Europe, especially in England and France, we complain of the inconstancy of the winds and of the variations of the temperature, but they are nothing comparable with those of the United States. There the same wind never continues thirty hours successively, nor the same degree on the thermometer for ten hours; the currents of air perpetually change, not merely some points of the compass, but from one north-west to south and south-east, from south and point in the horizon to the one directly opposite-from south-west to north-east; and these rapid changes in the wind are the more observable, since they, with the same rapidity, produce similar results in the temperature, causing such great and sudden changes as are productive of infinite injury to general health. BIOGRAPHIC SKETCHES. JOSEPH HAYDN. THE carly history of the celebrated Haydn exemplified all those struggles of merit and genius against circumstances, which we have so often held up to admiration, in the lives of men whose labours have conferred the most solid benefits upon their kind. He was the son of a poor wheelwright at Rohrau in Lower Austria, where he was born in the year 1732. Without any scientific knowledge of music, his father could play simple airs upon an old harp, to his own and his wife's singing. The natural talent for music which he thus proved himself to possess, was inherited by three sons, including Joseph, all of whom became distinguished musicians, though none attained the great eminence of the subject of this memoir. The inherent gift was first awakened in the mind of Joseph, by the tones of his father's harp, which he used to accompany with his voice at a very early period of childhood. Having In Canada, in the 46th and 47th degrees of latitude, below zero. In the middle states of the Union, as they may be called, namely, New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Maryland, the winters are shorter, and the snows less abundant and durable, seldom remaining longer than fifteen or twenty days. During the last winter (1834 to 1835), the snows remained a much longer time, the oold being more intense than ever recollected for thirty years. But although the snow sooner disappears, from its falling in less quantity, the cold for several weeks is always very severe. For instance, at Philadelphia, thus attracted the notice of the schoolmaster of Ham him at six years of age, and regularly instructed not only in music, but in reading, writing, and the Latin ments, when, the chapel-master of the court and cathegrammar. He had begun to play on several instrudral of Vienna coming to visit the dean of Hamburg, Nothing can have a more prejudicial effect than young Haydn was brought to exhibit before him; and these extraordinary changes and vicissitudes upon the the consequence was, that an offer was made to take health; and upon the generality of European consti-him as one of the children of the choir. This he gladly tutions they are found to be attended with bad accepted, and for eight years, amidst privations and consequences. They will sufficiently account for the prevalence of consumption in almost every maritime chastisements, he occupied that humble situation. town of the United States; this disease at New York, Here, however, he made a rapid progress in music, Philadelphia, and Boston, according to the published and began to exercise his talents as a composer, throwweekly returns at the three places, occasioning more ing off, before he was well acquainted even with the ruthan one-third of the deaths. All these facts show, diments of harmony, a great number of symphonies, indeed, that America possesses one of the most unwholesome climates in the world, as well, also, as one trios, sonatas, and other pieces, in which the dawnof the most disagreeable, since, except in autumn, it ings of an extraordinary genius were evident. is either too hot or too cold for an inhabitant of our boyish compositions wanted, as might be expected, the European temperate zone to show his face out of doors. regularity and consistency necessary for perfect sucendurable out of doors, when under the exercise and The intense cold of the winters in the Canadas is only cess in compound music; yet there appeared in them excitement of sleighing over the snow, which every bespoke what he might in after times produce, when a wildness of nature, and a luxuriance of fancy, which where covers the ground. It is also a singular circumstance, that the same degrees of heat and cold do not prevail on the same formerly President of the United States, published parallels of latitude in America itself. Mr Jefferson, various remarks upon the climate of his native state of Virginia, as well as upon that of the continent of America generally, and he observes :— These that wildness and luxuriance were corrected by attention and study. His voice in boyhood was of such clearness and compass, that it became fashionable for the great people of Vienna to go to the cathedral to hear him. At sixteen, when the usual change took place in his voice, he suddenly became altogether unfit to fulfil this duty. A in the 40th degree of latitude, answering to the meri- from east to west, under the same parallel, our climate boyish frolic was then made the pretext by his master below zero. dian of Madrid, Naples, &c. the thermometer descends every winter to 18 degrees, and very frequently to 5, Last winter, both at New York and Philadelphia, the mercury several days successively was at 10 and 12 degrees below the freezing point. The cold was then so intense that the Delaware was frozen over in twenty-four hours, in spite of a tide rising and falling six feet. The East River at New York was so full of ice that the steam-boats between that city and Brooklyn on Long Island, which start every quarter of an hour, were with the greatest difficulty able to force a passage, and in some cases were carried down "It is a remarkable circumstance, that, in going becomes more cold in proportion as we advance west in the same manner as if it were north. This observation applies to any one coming from any part of the continent situated to the east of the Alleghany mountains, until he reaches their summit, the highest ground between the ocean and the Mississippi. Thence, always keeping under the same latitude, and advancing west as far as the Mississippi, the case is altered; the climate becomes hotter than it is to the east upon the coast in the same latitudes." From all these facts, it is perfectly clear that climate degrees of latitude. Climate, in its restricted sense, is much modified by other circumstances than mere means but the degree of latitude of a country; the Greek word klima, from which it is derived, signify for turning him penniless and unrecommended into the street, where he passed a long and dreary November night upon a stone bench. It is a fortunate thing in the world, that the mercilessness of one man rarely fails to call forth the benevolence of another, if not of many others: Haydn was found in this forlorn condition by a very indigent musician, who, taking pity on him, afforded him a place at his frugal board, and a corner of a garret without a fireplace, furnished with a bed of sacking, a crippled chair and table, and a decayed harpsichord. Thus, in the midst of penury and suffering, Haydn began a career which was to ter |